Potato Knight Bar
by I Shall Bite Ya
Summary: Ludwig and Gilbert own a bar. This bar not only does it bring costumers that spill their cash, stories, and secrets but it's also connected with their future. They find friends through this bar, they find enemies through this bar, but they also find love.


**Potato Knight Bar**

Once Gilbert woke up in this somewhat quiet evening, he was quite jubilant. Very jubilant and appeased, actually. Given that the moment he and his brother made their way to The Potato Knight's Bar, and stepped inside it, it was oddly serene, which meant no work, and some relaxation. And life would be appreciated much more if it went the way we wanted. But of course, it didn't, and his brother sided with 'life' and ruined his rare minutes of rest.

The younger German took hold of a towel immediately and made his way to the nearest table and started cleaning vigorously. Gilbert couldn't help but laugh, and held it in the second it was out after Ludwig's deadly vibe spread out.

''Gilbert, this is no time to laugh! Do you not notice what's happening?!'' bellowed the German, cleaning more forcefully. Anyone who'd pass by would panic and walk away from the bar, leaving with the thought that instead of sparkles to admire on the wooden table, there'd be startling scratches. Many of them.

The bird loving man examined the bar thoroughly, which proved useless. ''Um… well, I'm sure we're not at war or something… right?'' Gilbert paused, waiting for Ludwig to answer, red eyes widening with fear when there was no reaction from the other. ''Mein Gott! Are we!?''

''Scheiße…'' muttered Ludwig. Gilbert knew how to irritate him even more. ''Gilbert, we are not at war,'' he informed hastily, seeing that his brother naively (and unsurprisingly) rushed outside to call Gilbird, his tone full of nothing but alarm.

When at last the Prussian settled down, Ludwig continued, ''As I was saying… What I think you did notice is that the bar is not full as always.''

''Which means no work!'' cleared Gilbert, getting back to his nap.

Ludwig was vexed, but he made no mind of it and continued, ''No… Do you know what that means? It means the bar is empty! Why is the bar empty? Because there are no people. So where are the people? The people are out there living their drama filled lives and can't wait to come back to our bar to spill out all their problems! Why am I not happy about this? Because I have when serving people their drinks, I'm forced to hear each one of their pathetic stories that I'm not interested in! Why is that so? Because I. Don't. Care, Gilbert. I don't care! And you will say 'that's the best part, West, how can you not care?', but do you know what I care about? My sleep! Why do I care about my sleep? Because all I hear every day is _their_ voices!''

''I hear their voices when I think, clean, eat, bath, and when I'm trying to sleep! _Even_ in my dreams, that I can hardly call a dream, but a nightmare! They're depriving my _sleep_.''

Gilbert raised an eyebrow at this. Extremely interesting day today, he thought. ''Dude, West, I don't know what you're complaining about. The best thing about being a bartender is listening to the stories! And don't tell anybody, but after a week of working here, I went and bought a recorder to record the stories my costumers spill, so I won't forget any major detail, you know?''

''…no. I don't know,'' commented Ludwig, taking this chance to drop the damaged towel and massage his forehead with both hands.

Gilbert grinned, fondling with his pockets to take out what appears to be a recorder. ''Listen to Kirkland's story, that man's hilarious!''

Ludwig fought a smile. ''Who _doesn't_ hear Kirkland after he sips a drink? That man gets the award for the maddest stories. He makes such a big deal out of them, honestly… sometimes I think of calling a therapist. He's even the last person I hear when I get into my sleep—'' the blonde frowned as he remembered the Briton's last visit, ''Mein Gott, his last visit was a week ago if I remember correctly.''

Gilbert nodded with excitement. ''Which means today's my lucky day! My recorder was rather empty these days, Kesesese!''

''Hopefully it will forever stay that way; I don't need more stories fighting for room up there.'' Ludwig sighed and carried on cleaning the tables—or what seemed to Gilbert, _fighting_ with the tables.

* * *

The _expensive_ and dear door to Ludwig burst open, and the German cursed for the millionth time that hour. Costumers kept on coming as if this was the only bar in the country. Neither Ludwig nor Gilbert needed to guess to know who just opened—if you could call it that—the door.

Alfred F. Jones.

The blonde kicked a chair open as he strode in; head haughtily held high with his careless, but broad toothed smile accompanying him, that gave out a modicum source of light to the dimly lit bar.

''Hero needs champagne, cranky face!'' ordered Alfred in his own special way, which resulted with a testy German slamming his drink on the table, most of the liquor splattering on the table.

Just like every day, five minutes after Alfred made a brash appearance, the door was barely seen as it was pushed inwards gently. A rumour went around that the American had a ghost attached to him or that the Kirkland guy cast a spell on the McDonald loving bloke.

Gilbert always snickered at those fools. Not once did he not see the person coming after Alfred, who was always short of breath and exhausted with a large bear embraced close to his chest.

Matthew Williams.

The Canadian angrily made way to his light hearted sibling, placing the furred animal on the nearest seat before seating himself and complaining heatedly, ''Al, don't just leave me and run to the bar! I was exhausted from the hockey match that _you_ hardly watched and the least you could of done was cheer for a few seconds, but, no, you were focused on your video game as many times before!''

The entrance was hurled open, most of the costumers yelped in shock as somebody seated nearby got hit slightly on the head by the rocking door. Both German men didn't trouble themselves looking up at who just came in.

Lovino Vargas.

The man wacked by the door, turned around, disconnecting his eyes with his date and into Lovino's, giving out a precious grin. ''No need to worry, amigo! I'm perfectly fine… I think.'' The Spaniard rubbed his head gingerly, trying to sooth it down. ''Ow…''

The dark haired Italian gave a roll to his eyes. ''Whatever.''

Ludwig slowed down his already slow paced steps before reaching the Italian. He'd rather calm himself down into being less angry than fully angry when talking to the man.

Ludwig smiled mentally the minute Lovino finished his order. Ludwig would bet his whole money that the Italian was ready to tear him apart just like himself this morning when hearing his brother ramble non-endlessly into his ears… At least he knew the reason behind the mafia originating in Italy.

Of course Ludwig couldn't leave without Lovino voicing out his decry about his bars' name.

"'Potato', really? You should of called it Potato-headed bastard's bar while you're at it. Do you know why?''

''Surprise me,'' said Ludwig subtly.

Lovino sneered, and brazenly responded, ''Since anyone with a potato for a head would be dead, brainless potato-head! And I want you dead just as the next person in this bar.''

With that helpful response, Ludwig glanced to the next table and was greeted by the delightful duo, Antonio and Bella. _Of course, who else would he want dead a part from the entire population._

''This bar of yours is finely decorated I have to say. I am impressed,'' declared a costumer. ''You know where your colours meet and where they depart. The tables and chairs are a nice match, and the stool I'm sitting on is remarkably comfy, you know how my lower half needs rest after all the action in bed, so thank you for these stools,'' the costumer winked.

Gilbert roared with laughter at the new client, and instructed, ''Come here, West! This new costumer is _something_! When drunk he talks about décor and slips dirty comments in between. Man, you got to tell me how you do that, it's incredible and hysterical at the same time!''

''Why thank you, monsieur…?''

The bartender beamed. ''Gilbert, you can call me Gil!''

''Oh, we finally have a Frenchman? At last, the whole globe is in our bar,'' remarked Ludwig dryly as he got to the shelf of drinks behind his brothers figure, wishing he decided on being a clown than a bartender.

''Ignore him; he hasn't had a beer in two days,'' confirmed Gilbert. ''Want a beer Frenchie? On the hou…''

Before the Frenchman could approve, the grand and _fairly pricy_ door swung vulnerably open. Rather than slightly whacking Antonio again on the head (who was in spite of everything still foolishly seated behind the door), it flung him out of his chair.

Germany prayed for his sound sleep the moment the grand figure stepped in, and simply spotting Gilbert opening his recorder the entire bar knew who it was.

Arthur Kirkland.

Not only that: Arthur Kirkland and a black apron on. Only.

''What's the tale today, Captain Kirkland?'' questioned Gilbert teasingly as the so called 'gentleman' staggered his way to an empty stool. The man never came without being a bit drunk himself.

''Bugger off, Beilschmidt… Just get me some rum.''

''Aye, aye, captain!'' teased on the Prussian.

The previous Frenchman turned around his stool leisurely to get a full view of the 'supposed' Pirate. The man chuckled at the drained figure. ''Aren't you the flashy one?''

For two hours straight the younger German kept his eyes on Kirkland, counting the drinks he's gulping down. Thanks to Alfred and Matthew they informed him how much liquor the other could hold and the amount of bottles of rum he could handle. So far, he's one bottle away from his limit.

''Very busy today, Ludwig-san?'' the Japanese man he served sake seconds ago questioned.

Ludwig examined the bar, ensuring that not a person is seated without a drink before grabbing a vacant chair nearby and placing it next to his friend. ''Full house today,'' Ludwig dully noted.

''Not really,'' notified Kiku. ''Those Scandinavian fellows aren't around; it's sadly peaceful without them.''

''And here I thought you of all people valued your peace.''

Kiku smiled faintly, and said, ''I love it when it's needed. In a bar—_especially_ your bar—it's not suited to be noiseless. It's loved when deafening. That's the difference between a bar and my garden back at home. Animals are the only sounds appreciated whilst in the garden. It is 'peaceful' when the bar is ear-splitting and 'peaceful' when the garden is soundless. Peace can be interpreted in many ways, my friend.''

Ludwig sipped the remaining alcohol from the abandoned glass nearby. He loved how Kiku came to his bar, drank sake, and when drunk mind-blowing (for him, at least) words rolled from his tongue. ''You came early today.''

''A friend is coming over; I didn't want to make him wait for me. See the Italian over there?''

The blonde didn't have to follow Kiku's gaze to know who he's referring to. ''Lovino?''

''His brother is joining me. Get him white wine for me, please.''

''On the way.''

The moment the bartender stood up the entrance door (that urgently should be fixed) flew open without a warning. A new face ran inside, short of breath just like a Canadian he knew. This one had no bear on him, though.

''Scusa!'' the man blurted out once he rushed to Kiku, stumbling twice in process. ''I would have been here earlier if it weren't for Grandpa Roma, he wanted me to take care of this thing and I didn't want to, but Lovi wasn't there so I had to, and I'm so, so sorry!''

Two drinks into their conversation Ludwig passed by to give out the third glass of white wine. ''..and nobody will date me! Sì, I know they say I'm cute, but I don't _want_ cute! I want _beautiful_… and… and love! And you can say I'm cute, but how about asking me on a date? That's not as hard as saying I'm cute! Would _you_ date me?'' Before Ludwig could've turned around and get the next order, Kiku's friend, Feliciano, eyes determined and fixed on Ludwig's eyes, asked with accent.

Ludwig didn't notice when his hands carelessly entwined and fidgeted for seconds whilst he replied tensely, ''M… me?''

''Sì!''

Ludwig didn't even notice both Kiku's winks and his brothers' encouraging, but embarrassing thumbs ups, and the odd and rather unnecessary comment from the Frenchie his brother is serving, ''the only thing worse than death is a broken heart, mon ami!''

The German looked down at the strangers' firm gaze, and smiled in response, baffled with himself. ''Ja.''

* * *

Instead of Kirkland's puzzling stories and the Russian's _**concerning**_ tales, one voice accompanied Ludwig to his sleep and those were the tunes of the Italian's voice. Not to mention the threats Lovino launched at him when he knew who was going to be taking Feliciano out for a date tomorrow.

* * *

Would you like a continuation? :)


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